


white catchfly, coltsfoot, and the cypress tree

by theantepenultimateriddle



Category: Wolf 359 (Radio)
Genre: F/F, No I don't care, but i swear to god i will finish it and the other one both, lovelace and minkowski are heroes, minkowski as a civilian doesn't think of herself with her last name, mythology au? gods existing au?, this is gonna be a slow-updating fic, yes i've written almost exclusively minlace fic for the past like 7 months
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2017-12-31
Packaged: 2019-02-24 13:31:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,008
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13214778
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theantepenultimateriddle/pseuds/theantepenultimateriddle
Summary: White catchfly, for betrayal. Coltsfoot, for the justice that shall be done. Cypress, for death and mourning.All gods must eventually face their creations.





	white catchfly, coltsfoot, and the cypress tree

Lovelace wakes up to the taste of blood in her mouth, her hero mark itching like a scab she can’t pick, and the ache that tells her she slept on the ground again last night, wherever she is. She slowly opens her eyes and sits up, scanning her surroundings. She’s in an alleyway again, across from a Dumpster, in-- she pauses a moment to try to remember which city she’s in, then decides it‘s irrelevant. They all blur together after a while, anyways.

Lovelace shoves herself up, groaning, then stretches her arms above her head and cracks her neck, loosening her muscles. She yawns, noticing the heat of the day. Even though it’s early, sweat beads on her forehead just from the effort of standing. Somewhere further south, then. Texas? New Mexico? _Doesn’t matter,_ she reminds herself. The only thing that matters is to keep moving. She takes a step towards the front of the alley, and her stomach grumbles, sparking the realization that she’s absolutely starving. Lovelace amends her priorities. The only things that matter are getting something to eat and drink, then moving on. Before she’s found again.

Lovelace’s muscles slowly ache less as she moves out into the street, but the hero mark on the inside of her left wrist keeps itching. She ignores it.

Going rogue means being a hero is no longer an option.

* * *

 

When Renee Minkowski is chosen as a hero for the gods, her husband cries. Not deep sobs, but he cries nonetheless, tears leaking out of the corners of his eyes and betraying his otherwise calm face. “I’m proud of you, Renee,” he says, and she knows he means it, she _knows_ he does, because Dominik loves her and he loves her achievements. But she also knows he’s afraid, and she reaches out to him, pulling him closer to her on the couch.

“Hey,” she says. “I’ll still get to see you.” The words taste like a lie in her mouth even though they’re technically true, but she pushes away the doubt and gives him a reassuring smile. Dominik smiles back, tentatively, and she knows he doesn’t believe her for a minute.

Renee holds him for another moment or so, breathing in his scent, and then lets go of him, shoving herself off the sofa to stand. He looks at her, then nods. “Go,” he says. He gives her a wry grin, offset only slightly by his swollen eyes and flushed skin. “I don’t think the gods will be as patient with you as I am.”

She rolls her eyes. “I'll see you, Dominik.” She turns and walks away out the door, into the waiting crowd of clergy and worshippers waiting to take her to the temple, for the ceremonies and anointments that will really make her into a weapon for the gods. Behind her, she hears her husband call out, one last time.

“Renee, I love-“

The door slams shut on his words, and she winces. Then the leader of the group, identifiable by his gold-on-gold uniform and by his face, which is plastered everywhere these days- _Warren Kepler, the Colonel, the pipeline sending messages from the gods to us-_ takes her by the arm and starts to lead her away, down the front steps of her house to where the car (dark and sleek and expensive, but not the overly ornate monstrosity she had somehow expected) waits. She just barely resists the urge to yank her arm from his grasp, but the flashbulb pops in the crowd remind her of the reporters and their tabloids, so she smiles and tries to look absolutely ecstatic even though deep down she’s questioning everything about these circumstances and, if she’s honest, wondering if this is really what she wants.

The Colonel shuttles her into the backseat of the car with another woman, curly-haired with dark sunglasses, typing quickly into a slim computer that rests on her lap. The door shuts behind her, and a while later the Colonel gets back in, sliding into the front passenger seat. “Damn paparazzi,” he growls. He seems more annoyed than Renee had expected. “Jacobi, get us out of here.”

The chauffeur, a man Renee can barely see from her position in the back, sighs and turns on the engine. “Getting us out of here now, sir.” He puts the car into drive and peels out, fast enough to make Renee nervous, and then they’re on the way to the temple and her anointment ceremonies, leaving behind everything she’s ever known.

On the way out, she runs her right thumb over the hero mark on the inside of her opposite wrist- a black, raised mark, shaped like a stylized eye with an arrow through the middle, dripping black splotches of ink like blood. The night before, as she was brushing her teeth, it had burned itself into her arm, making her drop the toothbrush and yelp in pain, grabbing her wrist as toothpaste foamed from her mouth. It was the pain that surprised her more than anything; no one had ever said anything about being marked as a hero hurting.

A hand reaches over and grabs her wrist, covering the mark. Renee jerks away sharply, pulling her arm back, but it was the woman in sunglasses who had grabbed her. She lets go quickly and moves back to her side of the car. “Don’t do that.”

“Oh? Why not?” Renee asks, narrowing her eyes. The woman with the sunglasses raises an eyebrow, then pulls off the glasses, revealing dark brown eyes.

“It’s not good for you,” she says, breezily. Then she extends her hand. “Alana Maxwell. And you’re Renee Minkowski.” Renee noted that she had pronounced her name right as she shook Maxwell’s hand. The woman had a surprisingly strong grip, considering how small she was. Maxwell smiled at her, then released her and closed her laptop with a decisive _click._ “To answer your question,” she said, stowing the laptop away in the pocket of the seat in front of her, “the mark is sensitive after it’s just been made, and touching it is a good way to make it feel… well, let’s say _uncomfortable.”_ She smiles, then holds up her own arm, on which Renee can see the mark etched like a tattoo under her watch. “I would know.”

Renee hesitates for a second, then nods. She looks around the car. “So all of you are…?” She can’t bring herself to say the word, for some reason, and she winces internally, hoping Maxwell won’t notice.

Thankfully, the other woman doesn’t seem to register her pause, or if she does she doesn’t acknowledge it. Maxwell nods. “Me, Jacobi, obviously the Colonel,” she says, “we’re all heroes. So are most of the people you’ll meet at the temple.” She snorts, a strange sound from her delicate nose. “Not like you’ll see all that many today, though.”

“Speaking of which,” Renee says, “will this take very long?” She frowns at the sound of her voice- she sounds whiny, impatient. This time Maxwell does take notice, and she raises an eyebrow.

“Why? Got something better to be doing?”

Renee shakes her head quickly. “No, no, of course not. I mean-“

Maxwell cuts her off, smiling. “I know, Renee. I was just pulling your chain.” Maxwell cocks her head for a moment, thinking. “It shouldn’t take _that_ long,” she says, then shrugs. “I wouldn’t be surprised if it takes longer than it seems to take, though. Time moves differently in the temple, and so does-- well, consciousness, in a way.”

Renee doesn’t ask. Instead, she just nods. “OK. And will I be allowed to go home to see my husband afterwards?”

Both of Maxwell’s eyebrows shoot up now, and she looks somewhat taken aback. “What?” she asks. “No, of course not. Then you’ll be sent on your first mission.”

“But-“

“Ask the Colonel about it later,” says Maxwell, quickly. “We’re almost here.”

Renee opens her mouth to say something more, but before she can speak the view out the window behind Maxwell’s head catches her eye. For a moment, she can’t tell what’s different; then she has to stifle a gasp. The trees, the road, the fields they pass-- everything outside the car is, almost imperceptibly, tinted golden. Renee looks out her own window, wondering if it’s only a trick of the light, but the world doesn’t just look gold. It sparkles, too, shines like jewelry, and somehow despite it all the colors of things remain undiluted. If anything, they’re _more_ than they were before, more vibrant and more alive. It’s as if everything has become its ideal self, the most perfect version of a road or a tree or a bush it can ever be.  Even the grass is greener (and that almost makes Renee laugh, because never before in her life has that saying been true). The world looks perfect, and that’s the first surefire sign that the temple is near.

“Jacobi,” Kepler says, out of the blue, “gun it.”

“With pleasure, sir.” And Jacobi steps on the gas, hard.

The car goes even faster, the engine vibrating up through the seats, and Renee is thrown back in her seat slightly. The scenery flashes by, and Maxwell laughs. “It’s a nice car, isn’t it?” she asks, turning to Renee. “Modified it myself.”

Renee swallows hard and nods. “It’s… very nice,” she says, her voice weak. “Very fast.”

Maxwell laughs again, then reaches out and pats her arm. “You’re going to be okay, Minkowski. It’s a lot to take in at first, but I promise, things get easier soon. Or, well… Jacobi? Got a better word?”

“More familiar,” supplies Jacobi, not taking his foot off the accelerator. “You get more used to it.”

“I guess,” says Maxwell. “You get… ooh. Better word. You get _acclimated_ to it, Minkowski.”

“Why do you keep calling me by my last name?” Renee asks. Outside the window, the gleaming scenery starts to blur together, merging. Even the sky seems to take on that same shine, until everything’s gleaming and glittering and gold, gold, gold. 

“Because you’re a soldier now,” Maxwell responds, almost too quiet to be heard over the engine. “You’re going to fight, and kill, and you’re going to watch people die. That’s what the mark means. And you don’t want to do any of that under your first name. Not if you want to use it again with a clear conscience.” Her eyes are vaguely compassionate now, and Renee notices her face, how young she is. Maxwell can’t be over thirty, but she talks like she’s been a hero for a long, long time.

Kepler, from the front seat, speaks in his slow, Southern drawl. “You might want to hang onto something,” he says. “We’re approaching.”

The car moves even faster, and the colors of the world change and shift, getting bright and brighter and then seeming to swirl, up and down and around the car until they’re driving in a swirling tunnel of light instead of on a road. Renee clenches her jaw, inhaling and exhaling through her nose, deep breaths that expand in through her stomach, trying to calm herself. Jacobi doesn’t let up, and Maxwell turns to yell at Renee over a tone like a finger being drawn across the edge of a wineglass that’s getting louder with every second. “We’re almost there!” Then she winks and puts her sunglasses on. 

Renee grits her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut, but the light floods the world even through her eyelids, blanking out everything else. Dimly, she hears Jacobi yell in delight. Then it all stops, and the car comes to a halt, so gently that Renee doesn’t even notice for a moment. When she does, she cracks an eyelid open.

The world is shining gold and marble around her, like Rome gilded by sunlight. Renee stares out the window for a second, taking it all in, as Jacobi gets out and opens the door for Kepler, then for her. Light floods in.

“Welcome to the temple,” he says.


End file.
